Death as a Way of Life

Impending death greatly concentrates the mind. The priorities get real sharp real fast. All kinds of things suddenly don't matter at all - and some things are more important than life itself.

Jesus' whole life was lived in the shadow of his death. We get hints of it every once in a while as we see the look in his eyes as he nears Jerusalem, or as he talks about the Kingdom of God, or as he gazes into sightless eyes, or as he speaks into open tombs. The look is that of a man who knows where he came from and where he is going. It is an uncommon look.

He had a single, simple focus. His life was concentrated by death. If his life seems somehow more vibrant and richer than those around him, perhaps that is why. Theirs were lived in varying shades of gray, his in the brilliant spectrum of every color of the rainbow. It is one of the reasons why people, even those who eventually turned away, were attracted to him in the first place. He was fully alive. And those near him seemed somehow to share in that life.

You only get to be that way - fully alive - by gazing steadily into your own tomb. By living with death as a way of life.

That defining gaze allowed him to embrace lepers; to play freely with children and others who could do him no good; say what needed to be said without fear; to let some people define themselves as his enemies; to risk ridicule and rejection. He not only marched to the beat of a different drummer, he had a whole new marching band playing out his life! He lived to please no one but his Father in Heaven.

And what is more, he invites us to do the same. He invites us to come and die with Him. To die daily. And having died, to really fully live. Those who have embraced their death have nothing left to lose. And are free to live - flamboyantly, vibrantly, completely - until the death they have embraced, embraces them - and ever after.

What Was That All About

And now we find true what we probably should

     have known in the first place –

     life does not yield of unmitigated joy

          just because Death is conquered.

The hard work of waiting for the certain coming

     of life after life after death

     does not get much easier

          knowing that Death is conquered.

Death gives way – but slowly – bit by

     bit – inch by hard won inch – only in time

     which doesn’t heal all wounds

          by itself – but waits until it is no more.

And now we find true what we probably should

     have known in the first place –

     life between life and death looks the

          same now that death is defeated.

We live in the meantime and wonder

     what was that all about? That dark Friday

     that lonely Saturday that empty full Sunday

          what was that all about – and… is?

In the mean time in between time lean time

     time so thin so fragile that you can

     almost see through it to times beyond

          time seen only though closed eyes.

So used to seeing time inside out that

     when it finally is turned rightside

     up we are disoriented in the same

          place familiar but… not.

Like we will be here or somewhere like this

     then more than we are now or were more

     than time allows – invites – embraces

          made open handed by open grave.

And now we find true what we probably should

     have known in the first place –

     that was about all – known loved life

          and its only chance for redemption.

Questions for the Marys

There are a number of them, known because of their connection with Jesus. The Marys. Mother, friends, supporters, loved ones. Of all the disciples, they seem closest to the action over this weekend. I have some questions they might be able to answer.

How did you feel when all that you had treasured in your heart turned to dust on that Friday afternoon?

What was it like to prepare for burial the One who had raised your brother from death? What did you think as you watched Him whom you knew to be Life die?

Where did you get the strength and courage to stand there all day Friday? Was John a good son?

What did you do on Saturday? Were you able to stop weeping? Even for a moment?

What was it like to bring the perfume to anoint his body for burial for the second time in a week?

Was the tomb kind of warm? Or did it glow? Or vibrate? Did you recognize either angel? Do any of the soldiers kind of look at you sideways?

What did He look like that morning - so different that you did not recognize Him? Was it shock, or a lack of expectation that kept you from seeing? Or was He somehow . . . different?

What was in your name when He spoke it?

How did the men respond when you told them what you had been doing - and seen - that Sunday morning?

Did you ever feel like just slapping Thomas silly?

Was the sunrise different the next day?

How was life different on Monday morning? Have you been able to stop laughing and smiling? Even for a moment?

Do you still look expectantly at every closed door?

Honor your Father and Mother - Lenten Meditation (Mark 10:19)

Jesus says to me, "Honor your Father and Mother." How quickly I agree with my friend, "I have observed this since my youth."

And in the pause that follows, I sink into the love in His eyes and begin to see as He sees and feel the wounds that He feels. Wounds that I have inflicted upon another, the least of these, landing on Him.

The subtle setting aside of the wisdom and experience of one older in the way without even giving the courtesy of honest, informed disagreement. Set aside simply because the source can't keep my frantic pace.

Disregarding the old ways without consideration for whether they have any fault other than that they are old. Exchanging new for old, because it is new. Not stopping to consider whether the test of time might be worth passing.

Sometimes the phrases, the resemblances, the silences, the gestures of family rise up unbidden, and my response is not the greeting of familiar friends but denial of connection. In not wanting to be like them, I become like them. And shudder, neither knowing them nor myself at all.

Honor face to face, but beneath a thinly veiled anger and contempt for what I thought I was owed, but never received. Not content with the gift of given life.

The longing for those ahead and above to move on and out so that space could be made for me - not knowing the horror of having no covering nor that there is plenty of room at the bottom for any who would serve. Failing to recognize that maturity often means choosing to go for the sake of others where I don't want to go.

Watching the options narrow and fighting the reality instead of embracing gladly what will become of me. The sad denial of time's certain march.

"Spirit of the Living God, fall fresh upon me. Search my heart for all of the secret ways and hidden sins which I can barely acknowledge even when I see them in the mirror. Give me the courage to lift them up. Cleanse the poisons by your sweet, healing, soothing, Presence."

Do Not Defraud - Lenten Meditation (Mark 10:19)

Jesus says to me, "Do not defraud." How quickly I agree with my friend, "I have observed this since my youth."

And in the pause that follows, I sink into the love in His eyes and begin to see as He sees and feel the wounds that He feels. Wounds that I have inflicted upon another, the least of these, landing on Him.

The subtle way I have taken advantage of a stranger to my benefit, thinking, because he was a stranger, that it didn't matter. Taking the place of another to receive the benefit due him. Receiving the reward for another's work.

Looking with longing at what someone else has, and scheming how I might get it. Wanting it simply because they have it. Not one like it - but what they have. As much so that they don't have it as that I have it.

The strange manipulation of the scales so that the outcome is in my favor and to my advantage, even if at cost to another. Calculations that benefit my bottom line, but hurt someone else's. The lowest price gotten at high cost.

Information withheld, so that a decision is made without knowing what is needed to be known in order to make a wise decision. Withheld because, if they knew what I know, they wouldn't buy what I am selling. After all, "let the buyer beware." Fingers crossed, lest it break before the money is in the bank.

A knowingly cultivated, but wrong, image for my gain. Relationships and associations falsely claimed for benefit. Never spoken but false impressions leading others to treat me in better ways than they would otherwise.

"Spirit of the Living God, fall fresh upon me. Search my heart for all of the secret ways and hidden sins which I can barely acknowledge even when I see them in the mirror. Give me the courage to lift them up. Cleanse the poisons by your sweet, healing, soothing, Presence."

Do not bear false witness - Lenten Meditation (Mark 10:19)

Jesus says to me, "Do not bear false witness." How quickly I agree with my friend, "I have observed this since my youth."

And in the pause that follows, I sink into the love in His eyes and begin to see as He sees and feel the wounds that He feels. Wounds that I have inflicted upon another, the least of these, landing on Him.

Those times, those many times, when I have gone beyond the required yes or no, to fill the space with reasons and rationalizations as unnecessary as they are untrue. Words used to soften and explain falsely, making no one better off for their having been spoken.

Words used to wound, to strike back, to defend, to shift attention, to blame, to hurt - without regard for truth, only for impact. The claws of a cornered ego shredding perceived attackers without a moment's thought or hesitation.

A silence leaving a wrong impression. A laugh instead of a denial. A conspiratorial nod giving agreement when correction and defense is needed, is demanded by the truth. A convenient, self-serving, silence that lies.

The sharing of a story without regard for whether it is true or not - a story that colors the opinion of another, a story that, like all stories, lingers long after the telling. A cluster bomb of gossip.

The embellishments, designed to display my cleverness, my quick wittedness, my brilliance. Just not my truthfulness. Truth takes a back seat to momentary impression. More important, to me, what you think than what He thinks.

"Spirit of the Living God, fall fresh upon me. Search my heart for all of the secret ways and hidden sins which I can barely acknowledge even when I see them in the mirror. Give me the courage to lift them up. Cleanse the poisons by your sweet, healing, soothing, Presence."

Do not steal - Lenten Meditation (Mark 10:19)

Jesus says to me, "Do not steal." How quickly I agree with my friend, "I have observed this since my youth."

And in the pause that follows, I sink into the love in His eyes and begin to see as He sees and feel the wounds that He feels. Wounds that I have inflicted upon another, the least of these, landing on Him.

So many little things. Things that don't matter. Things that nobody will  miss. Things that find their way mysteriously into my pockets, onto my bookshelves, into my garage. Just borrowed, most of them, but never finding their way home. How quickly my list of excuses and justifications and rationalizations grows. I need it more than they. They already have too much. What difference does it make. Really. The difference is not in the respect for things as things, but in the respect for things as extensions of persons.

Intangible thefts rise up in my consciousness. The moments stolen from a waiting friend. The fudged time card. The expanding lunch and coffee break. The small disposables, purchased by someone else for a specific use.

The good opinion of one held by another, shredded by casual cutting words. The good reputation, questioned without knowledge by a raised eyebrow and sardonic smile. Someone's simple and real joy trashed by an overly critical comment.

And the things stolen from myself. Moments emptied of meaning and significance, filled with trash. Today's pleasures, sidelined by imported worries and the "coulda shoulda woulda" band of thieves. Opportunities never explored, stolen by the fear of what could go wrong. Deep Presence never engaged because of self-destructive pride.

"Spirit of the Living God, fall fresh upon me. Search my heart for all of the secret ways and hidden sins which I can barely acknowledge even when I see them in the mirror. Give me the courage to lift them up. Cleanse the poisons by your sweet, healing, soothing, Presence."